


HSWC Bonus Round Fills

by astrologicallyDubious (ruination_fangs)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, gratuitous rabbit puns, that's really all you need to know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 09:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruination_fangs/pseuds/astrologicallyDubious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John adjusts to being normal again, Karkat just wants to do for Terezi what she's always done for him, and Rose wages a war with puns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John <3 Rose

**Author's Note:**

> For [a BR1 prompt based on The Perks of Being a WallFlower](http://hs-worldcup.dreamwidth.org/3493.html?thread=394405#cmt394405):  
> "I wish I could report that it's getting better, but unfortunately it isn't. It's hard, too, because we've started school again, and I can't go to the places where I used to go. And it can't be like it was. And I wasn't ready to say good-bye just yet."

He thought the first few weeks after it ended would be the worst. 

It's just like waking up from a dream, right? That's what Rose always compares it to, anyway. No matter how fascinating or disturbing or whatever it was, you have to get up and put on your clothes and brush your teeth and then you'll eventually forget about it.  
  
He gets up and puts on his clothes and brushes his teeth for a few weeks and finds that nothing's really changed. Rose fails to be surprised by that, either. It's normal, she says; traumatic experiences can leave such lasting impressions.  
  
"Traumatic" isn't really the word he would use. It was frustrating, yeah, and sad at times, but it was also fun! And he went a lot of cool places, and made a lot of friends, and now he misses it all. Misses it and misses them and misses her, too.  
  
"Don't miss me," she told him once over a late-night video chat, back when grainy webcam feeds and laggy microphone audio hadn't yet replaced memories of talking to them in person. "I'm still here."  
  
And indeed she is – more so than anyone else, in fact. It's not that Dave and Jade have become distant, but now that life has ground back into motion, everyone's been busy. They don't always have the time to talk for hours over Pesterchum, or the attention to reply to his texts at any time of day or night.   
  
Or the resources to fly to Maple Valley for the summer. 

  
  
 _(The ride home from the airport was oddly quiet._  
  
 _John was old enough to drive then, but Dad still insisted on going with him to pick up Rose; the traffic can be awful around SeaTac, after all. He sort of expected to be bouncing out of his seat with excitement and talking too fast to understand, but despite his enthusiasm everything felt rather calm. Sort of casual. Maybe... right._  
  
 _Rose chatted with Mr. Egbert and joked with John in the back seat as he brainstormed places they could go in the coming weeks; when they arrived home John showed her around the house while his father made dinner, and afterwards, sitting in the living room talking with the windows cracked open and the TV on, may have been the closest John has felt to "normal" yet.)_

  
  
But even so, it never quite feels the same. It's as if some part of his existence itself has shifted, some thread woven into the fabric of his life that doesn't entirely belong, but no amount of picking and picking at it will make it either come out or fit in.  
  
Dad suggests that school will take his mind off it come September. It doesn't, really. John lines his notes with doodles of salamanders and hammers and horned stick figures in funny pajamas, spends his science classes daydreaming of space-warping dogs and three years on a golden ship.  
  
Rose helps him with his English homework, and does silly dramatic readings with him over voice chat when he gets tired of the books he's been assigned. Still having her around (in spirit) does help, a little, when he's having to adjust to waking up at seven instead of eleven and watching the clouds pass by through a window rather than through the branches of the trees in the backyard.

  
  
 _(He pointed up above the house, his other hand resting securely between his head and the ground, and said, "That one looks sort of like your tentacle monster things."_  
  
 _Beside him, Rose scoffed. "Really, John? I fail to see the resemblance. I'm beginning to think you've never seen a tentacle monster thing in your life."_  
  
 _"What, no, of course I have. I am like. Crawling in tentacle monster things. Ew, no, actually that sounds disgusting."_  
  
 _"As I thought. You are a fraud, sir, not the expert in tentacle monster things that you led me to believe. How could you have lied to me like that, John?"_  
  
 _Her voice was the perfect blend of injury and barely-concealed amusement (her voice was perfect); when he stole a glance at her, lying on her back in the grass next to him, and found her smiling, he couldn't help but do the same._  
  
 _"I'm sorry. You're right, I know nothing about tentacle monster things. I made it all up. But I only did it because I wanted to impress you."_  
  
 _"Well." She never took her eyes from the patches of sky that lined the maple leaves above her, but he swears he saw them soften. "You have.")_

  
  
In a way, it made things more difficult this year. Not that having her come to visit was a bad thing! He doesn't regret it at all. But, well, it was hard enough when transitioning back into School Mode was the only adjustment he had to make at the end of the summer. The house feels oddly empty now without fighting over who gets to shower first because Rose always uses up too much of the hot water, and having to move the sleeping bag from the couch every morning so Dad had a place to sit down.  
  
It would be one thing to want only to go back to the idle hours spent lounging around his room, miss being able to push back bedtime hour by hour without a thought for tomorrow morning, long for impromptu trips to the lake in the early afternoon.

  
  
 _(She's surprisingly bad at skipping rocks._  
  
 _"Don't you live on top of water or something?" he said as he picked through the stones at his feet, collecting the flattest ones in a pouch made by turning up the front of his shirt._  
  
 _"You can't skip rocks at Rainbow Falls, John. The water's not calm enough."_  
  
 _Rose's footsteps made a light clattering sound as she walked slowly across the beach, stones shifting underneath her._  
  
 _"Yeah, right." John picked up one final rock, perfectly flat on one side but a little uneven in weight, and headed over to her at the shoreline. "I bet you didn't even try."_  
  
 _"That's quite the accusation," Rose said, taking the disc-like stone John offered her. With a graceful twist of her wrist it shot out of her hand, and skipped once before sinking with a sad plop into the water. The sound of John's snickers overpowered the soft lapping of the water at their feet._  
  
 _Rose sighed. "So it goes. Mine are a writer's hands, unaccustomed to these rough pursuits of you Washingtonian youth. You must teach me your ways."_  
  
 _"Heh heh." John carefully dumped the rocks from his shirt onto the ground before picking one and winding up to throw it. It skipped four times; he grinned at Rose. "Well, that can probably be arranged."_  
  
 _By the time the collection of rocks had been depleted, Rose hadn't really improved, but it didn't matter much; John's "hands-on" approach to teaching had somehow gone from taking her hands as he showed her the motion to holding her hand as they walked down the shore, and then all the way back home.)_

  
  
Yes, he misses the places he used to visit, and the free time of summer. It's just that that's not all that's missing now. Neither is she, though he'll no longer deny that she's an important part of it too, part of it and independent of it at the same time.   
  
When he thinks about it, it's kind of ridiculous. Three years is too long, far too long for a game to last, and it still feels like it wasn't enough. There was too much to do. He wasn't quite ready to leave.  
  
But it'll get better, Rose says, and he believes her. It just hasn't yet. So he'll wait, and he knows she'll wait with him.


	2. Karkat <3 Terezi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a [BR4 prompt](http://hs-worldcup.dreamwidth.org/8507.html?thread=2054459#cmt2054459).

Terezi has always been a better troll than you.  
  
It's not just because she's a  _real_  troll, one with an acceptable blood color, even if she didn't really have a lusus. It's not because she might have actually had a chance at making it as a legislacerator while, let's face it, you would have been culled before you ever got to call yourself a threshecutioner.   
  
It's because when you first looked at Terezi you started to see in her the model of what a troll is supposed to be. Pointed horns, shark teeth, all the sharp angles that you lack despite your bristling and snapping. Deadly but not without compassion, cunning but loyal to those she respects, with an esteem for the law but not so much that she can't turn a blind eye (ha, you crack yourself up) when the situation demands.   
  
You were one of those situations, you think. Terezi had always loved colors, couldn't get enough of them, smeared them all over your walls in chalk and paint and sniffed them out of even the dullest of backdrops, out of pure gray concrete and monochrome steel and out of you. It frightened you, for a while, the way her teeth would linger next to your ear when she whispered to you, how she would come up behind you and press her nose to your neck and inhale like she could actually breathe you in (it tickled, but you didn't laugh). Because if you could hide behind paper-thin anger and over-inflated bravado and a plain gray sign to veil what you didn't want her to see, how could you be sure the jokes and the teasing and the cackling reassurances weren't all a ruse? You two knew better than anyone what the law did to trolls like you.  
  
But the law didn't seem to care in your case. She said she'd let you off this time, that it would be a shame to spill blood as delicious as yours. Candy candy red, sickly sweet under that plain gray wrapper, and you pushed her away because what the fuck, how stupid can you get, you're not  _sweet_ you're ferocious and you don't need your sick mutant veins likened to something Terezi would eat (which is, let's be honest, practically anything).  
  
And somehow, by some miracle of whatever bogus clown gods Gamzee worships, you became okay with it -- in a reluctant, "see what I have to deal with" sort of way. For all the jokes she made, for every time she stuck her cane in your face until she got exactly the reaction she wanted from you, she made up for it with her own brand of rough support, a slap on the back or a bony hug or candid advice when you complained at her for hours over Trollian. Someone to watch your back in a fight, an outstretched hand to help you up if you fell down on the jagged hills of LOPAH.  
  
She radiated confidence and bravery and, yeah, batshit insanity, but sometimes you really believed being around her would make you a better troll too, like your own stupid wiggler insecurities and cowardice would evaporate in the face of it all.  
  
Or... something like that. Let's not get too dramatic here, it's not like she really did "save" you or anything. She didn't swoop in and stop you from falling into the ocean of sweltering blood that covers your planet (the game was just one more chance for the universe to spit in your face until your own blood boiled like your newly-installed moat), and she didn't drag you kicking and screaming out of the pit of self-loathing you've dug for yourself (there was kicking and screaming involved, though). Contrary to popular belief, you do know the difference between real life and sappy romcoms thank you very much, and in any case if this was a romcom you'd be the male lead who becomes the hero and gets the girl and delivers all the best one-liners at exactly the right moments. You'd probably sweep her off her feet and when she'd kiss you her lips wouldn't taste like Faygo and your (ex-?)moirail's facepaint.  
  
But she was never the damsel in distress and you were never the hero and maybe that's why now, picking her up off the floor in her dirty t-shirt and scalemate boxers, you have no idea what you're supposed to say. The first thing that comes to mind is "what the fuck" but that's ceased being helpful.   
  
The least you can do is take her to her room, where she promptly passes out again with her head on your thigh, drooling on your pants. You run a hand tentatively through her hair, ragged and unkempt in a way Terezi Pyrope is just not supposed to be, and wonder how the hell you're going to fix this. She'll tell you it's not your business, she already told you it's not your fault, but you can't not blame yourself at least a little, and like hell will you sit by and watch it happen.   
  
Maybe that's drifting a little more in the pale direction than you intended (you're suddenly thankful you're sitting on the floor and not the pile of scalemates in the corner), but you can't bring yourself to care much. It's not as if you and Gamzee haven't crashed and burned by now; apparently you don't know as much about moirallegiance as you thought. But you know your feelings run as red as your blood, and you know she used to feel the same way, and maybe someday you can have that back.  
  
Until then, it doesn't matter if she thinks of you as a matesprit or a moirail stand-in or just a good friend. You'll take any quadrant -- you want all the quadrants -- but you'd be blessed to have her by your side in any capacity, romantic or otherwise. So you'll stomach the way your throat feels like it's burning when you look at her falling apart like this, and the way your blood-pusher twists almost painfully when she says she's useless. You don't know what you can do, but you'll do it angrily only because you care, and you'll shake her by the shoulders and shout if that's what it takes to get through to her.  
  
She tried to make you believe that you -- cowardly, mutant Karkat, who's never been able to do anything without royally fucking it up -- are worth something, and if you're worth something, you are damn sure she's worth so much more than this too. More than the charades your teenage ancestors put on, more than her blindness or current lack thereof, more than her Seer powers, more than the choices she made years ago that still haunt her. Because if Terezi helped hold you together way back when, then goddammit you will give every last drop of candy red blood in your body to help put her back together now.  
  
For yourself, because you need this, and for the new session, because it needs her, and for her, because she deserves it -- and that's all the impetus you need to try.


	3. John <3 Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For BR6, a companion piece to Team John<3Rose's Main Round 2 entry, [Bun on the Run](http://hswc2013-r2.dreamwidth.org/12753.html)!

"Yes, I understand. I'll look into it right away and contact you once I've found out more. Thank you, good day." 

You hang up the phone and take a moment to think, tapping your pen against your desk. This new case shouldn't prove particularly difficult – not for Rose Lalonde, ace wizard detective. It may require some assistance, but luckily you're not short in that department, either: your secretary, one John Egbert, has made an excellent partner in recent months (in more ways than one, you might add, but that's not currently pertinent to your work).   
  
"John, come here for a moment."   
  
There's a door separating your work spaces, one you like to keep closed when you need room to think, but you can still hear the sound of his chair scraping across the floor on the other side before your assistant steps into your office.   
  
"Yeah?"   
  
"I need you to find the file on that Serket case we took a few months ago."   
  
John blinks a few times before responding. "Oh, that theft?"   
  
"Yes, that was it. Hop to it."   
  
He was in the process of closing the door, but as soon as you finish speaking he freezes with his hand on the knob and turns around. Or at least, you think he does – you're looking at the papers on your desk, only the slightest hint of self-satisfaction gracing your expression.   
  
John lingers in the doorway a moment longer as if he wants to say something, but apparently he thinks better of it, because the next sound you hear is the door clicking shut, and then the metallic clunk of a file cabinet opening in the other room.   
  
You're still reading your notes when he returns a few minutes later and drops the file on your desk.   
  
"Serket, Vriska," he recites, "accused of numerous accounts of petty theft by her neighbors and FLARPing partners."   
  
"Charges that were settled months ago, and yet today I have received another call from a Crockertown citizen concerned that Serket is still living up to her old moniker."   
  
John crosses his arms over his chest and looks out the window, or rather out the dim slits between the cracked blinds covering the window. (You have an image to maintain, after all.)   
  
"But why would she still be stealing things?" he asks. "She said she would stop, and she seemed like a nice enough girl."   
  
You respond with a huff. "'Nice' isn't the first adjective that comes to mind, but regardless of motive or perceived amiability, we carrot take the matter lightly, John."   
  
John's eyes snap back to you. "Did you just...?"   
  
"Did I just what?" You look up innocently.   
  
He takes a long moment to scrutinize your face, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. "...Was there a 'carrot' in that sentence?"   
  
"Of course not, don't be silly. Who ever heard of arbitrarily peppering sentences with vegetables?"   
  
John's mouth opens and then closes into a scowl. "Okay, whatever. What were you saying about Vriska?"   
  
"I was saying that as she has already been found guilty once, I wouldn't put it past her to repeat the offense. Everybunny knows she's of rather dubious character, John."   
  
This time he doesn't second-guess himself. "Okay, you're doing that on purpose."   
  
"Why, whatever do you mean?" You prop your chin on one hand, grinning at him from behind your curled fingers. "Honestly John, you seem to be mishearing a lot today. When was the last time you got your ears checked?"   
  
The withering stare he gives you could almost rival your own. "You just – no, never mind, you're just going to act all coy and pretend you're talking normally. Just tell me about the case."   
  
Clearing your throat, you collect your papers and straighten them against your desk with a sharp  _clack_. "Very well, ears the details." You ignore his sigh as he sits down across from your desk. "I received a call from a man who suspects Serket is somehow involved with the numerous items that recently have gone missing from his apartment. Whether she stole them herself or 'innocently' came into possession of them by some other means, he can't determine, but in either case he has commissioned us to confirm that Serket does, in fact, have the stolen goods."   
  
"He just wants us to say she has them, not get them back?" John has sprawled out across the small but comfortable chair usually reserved for clients, with one leg over an armrest and an arm over the back. "Well, whatever; easier for us I guess. What are the items?"   
  
"Billiard balls, apparently. Or at least something of the sort. He said something about magic eight balls but specifically mentioned only a cue ball." You set your papers back down. "To be honest, he seems a man of less than reputable character himself. But it looks like a straightforward enough case, and I'm not in the rabbit of turning down clients in need of help."  
  
John sits up a little. "'Not in the rabbit'?" he repeats. "That's pushing it."   
  
"What are you talking about? I said not in the  _habit_. You've got bunnies on the brain, John."   
  
"Ugh." He slumps back against his armrest. "So what do you intend to do about Vriska? Break into her house and see if she's got the stuff?"   
  
"No, I don't think this will warren-t action quite that dire."   
  
There's a pause before John says wearily, "I had a hutch you were going to say that."   
  
"Touché. In any case, we should consider our other hoptions."   
  
This time he doesn't bat an eyelash. "Yes, lettuce."   
  
You look at him levelly across your desk and he looks back, unreadable. Damn, maybe you're starting to rub off on him. You've always known that John is sharper than he tends to let on, or rather come off as, but you may have to step up your game if you want to keep your title of pretentious wordmaster around the office.   
  
"I was thinking," you continue, "of something more akin to a stakeout. We don't need to recover the missing goods, remember – only to see them in Vriska's possession, which likely means in her house. A good glimpse of her room is all it should take, if we can only find out where she lives and if there's an accessible window to which we can obtain access. And since you obviously find her a pleasant enough person to interact with, I figured it would be a simple task fur you."   
  
"Well, you never have been one for harebrained schemes," John says with a proud grin that you don't think was meant for you. "Espionage isn't really my thing, but if I get off on the right foot she'll probably talk to me. But I thought you'd lean more towards something more subtle, like using a crystal ball to spy on her or something. Or cotton you just tail her for a while until you find out where she lives?"   
  
You sigh. "Cotton; I'll admit I hadn't thought of that one yet."   
  
"Come on, Rose, who do you think you're dealing with here?" John gestures confidently at himself. "You cannot hop – I'm sorry,  _hope_  to beat me in a comedy-off. When it comes to rabbit jokes, I am simply the bes–"   
  
"I believe you mean  _bun puns_."   
  
"..."   
  
You watch as John's expression morphs, as if in slow motion, from surprised to indignant to disgusted.   
  
"I hope the term doesn't make you too unhoppy," you start, but that's as far as you get before John abruptly stands up.   
  
"Okay, you win!  _For now_." One finger points threateningly in your direction as he backs toward the door. "But I will be back, and I will bring so many stupid animal puns you won't know what hit you."   
  
You lean back in your chair, not bothering to conceal a victorious smirk. "All right. I'm looking forward to hearing it. In fact," you add, after a pause, "you might even say I'm..."   
  
"Don't you dare."   
  
" _All ears_."   
  
He slams the door behind him.   
  
* * *   
  
\--  ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] –   
  
EB: hey, rose, sorry for the short notice, but i won't be coming to work tomorrow.  
TT: Oh, dear. Were my rabbit puns that offensive?   
EB: pfft, no. i'm not offended. but don't celery-brate just yet, i am still going to get you back.   
TT: So I've heard.   
EB: but, uh, that aside... is it really okay if i'm gone tomorrow?   
EB: i know you wanted me to go with you into the city to see if anyone's seen vriska lately...   
TT: It's fine, John. I am fully capable of investigating on my own for a while.   
TT: Unless, of course, you would like to accompany me as a rabbit.   
EB: ha ha.   
TT: I mean it John, you could be the finest rabbit detective the city has ever known.   
EB: gee, what an honor. but i'm afraid i have to pass, thanks.   
TT: In any case, even if I only recently learned of the cause, it's not as if I'm unaccustomed to your monthly departures.   
TT: I can make do without you hare for a day.   
TT: Or rather,   
TT: With you hare.   
EB: ......   
TT: :)   
EB: god dammit.   
  
\-- ectoBiologist [EB] has ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] --


End file.
